


What Dreams May Come

by wrackwonder



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Babies, F/F, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrackwonder/pseuds/wrackwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is not the end, but rather, the beginning. A domestic Clexa AU that veers off-course following 3.07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“No!”

 

Clarke leapt forward without thinking. She had seen Titus reach for Lexa’s body and every instinct told her to stop him. To keep Lexa _here_ , with _her_ , away from this man who had spilled the sacred blood in such a wasteful manner. Clarke shouldered her way between Titus and Lexa’s corpse, sliding herself across the still-warm chest until she held Lexa close, ignoring the sticky wetness where her palm cradled the back of Lexa’s neck.

 

“ _Wanheda_!”

 

“No!”

 

Her voice was shrill, more shrill than she could ever remember it being, but she could not allow this. She could not allow Lexa to be taken away from her, not now, not when they had finally found each other again. She closed her eyes and remembered Lexa’s face, her full lips, those impossibly long fingers reaching for her and only her, she remembered…

 

“Hey, man, give her a second!” It was Murphy. Clarke didn’t risk moving, not when Titus seemed so intent on taking Lexa from her, so she tightened her hold and listened as Murphy plead her case.

 

“You shot the Commander,” he was saying and Titus seemed to still for a moment. “And we could tell everyone, but we won’t, just give Clarke a minute or two before you start setting Lexa on fire or chopping off her hair or whatever the hell you Grounders do…”

 

There was a rustling of robes and a heavy sigh and then Titus’ voice filled the chamber once more.

 

“Very well,” he said, his voice low, “you have ten minutes, _Wanheda_. I shall arrange for the Conclave to begin.”

 

There was the echo of boots on the stone floor and then Titus was gone leaving Clarke to her grief.

 

“Clarke, we need to get out of here.” Murphy was suddenly standing across from her, his shadow cast darkness over Lexa’s features and she wanted to yell at him to move, to stop blocking the candlelight, to stop making Lexa’s face look so ashen.

 

“Just…please,” she whimpered, pressing a kiss to Lexa’s forehead and sliding her fingers across Lexa’s neck. The skin was still warm, she knew it should have been cooling, but it was warm, and that’s when she felt _it_ underneath her blood-drenched hands. It was faint and at first Clarke thought she was imaging it, but there was…

 

“Murphy, give me your hand. Now.”

 

Clarke violently pulled Murphy forward by the wrist, forcing his hand beneath Lexa’s jaw.

 

“Clarke, what the…”

 

She watched his face change, the confusion turning to surprise, and then fear, because Lexa had a pulse.

 

It was fading. Quickly. But it was there. And Clarke had mere moments before Titus returned to collect the corpse of _Heda_.

 

Clarke gave herself one stolen second to look at Lexa’s face, one pause in the structure of time to memorize the high cheekbones and the full lips, and then she placed the part of her that was a girl in love high on a shelf and got to work.

 

“Murphy, get me bandages, towels, anything…and pliers or scissors…water…bring that candle…NOW!”

 

She could hear her mother’s voice rise from her throat, but she didn’t pause to think on it. Not when there was a chance, not when Lexa’s heart was somehow still beating. It must have been the AI, that small electric charge when Titus removed it from Lexa’s neck, it must have been…

 

Clarke was working fast now with Murphy at her side. It felt strange to have him next to her, this man she sometimes called friend, but more often called enemy. Still, he stood by her, handing her tools, bringing her cloth, more candles, everything she asked for. When the bullet was removed, Clarke packed the wound as much as she could, feeling sweat pouring down her forehead as she refused to let herself remember kissing the stomach now stained with black blood.

 

When the door opened again, Clarke could not allow herself to stop, but Murphy turned, obviously ready for a fight.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Titus barked, but Clarke did not turn, tightening the bandages over Lexa’s deep wound.

 

“Good job checking for a pulse!”

 

“Clarke, we have to…”

 

“ _Heda_?”

 

Octavia and Indra shouted at the same time and it was all too much for Clarke. There were too many voices and too many candles and Lexa’s eyes were closed and she couldn’t tighten the bandages because her hands were covered in blood and they were slippery and…

 

The _gasp_ was soft, but there. Clarke felt it, rather than heard it. A sudden, shallow, shudder of Lexa’s chest. She was breathing. She was breathing and her heart was beating, and it suddenly didn’t matter that four people were screaming behind her.

 

“Clarke!” It was Octavia this time, a solid hand on her shoulder and Clarke swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep from crying or screaming or throwing up.

 

“We need to go,” Clarke said, finally turning to stare down the now full room.

 

“You cannot,” Titus shook his head furiously, stepping forward towards the bed.

 

“She needs my mother and I will not leave her here.”

 

“But the Conclave!”

 

“Start the Conclave,” Clarke yelled and Octavia quietly took her place at Clarke’s side. Clarke knew without looking that the younger Blake sibling likely had an eyebrow up in challenge. Woe to Titus or anyone who crossed her path.

 

“This is unheard of! The Commander’s Spirit has left her, yet she lives? It cannot be!”

 

“Well, it is, Titus. So here is what we’re going to do.” Clarke kept one hand solidly on Lexa’s chest feeling the light, but very present, movement of her lungs. Everyone in the room seemed to be bracing for her words, for her rules, and she allowed herself to be _Wanheda_ , to harness the power she had earned through blood and suffering.

 

“The Conclave will continue and you will find the next Commander. But,” she raised one hand in warning, stopping Titus from whatever protestation was sure to come forth. “we take Lexa with us. _Skaicru_ medicine will heal her and she will return to Polis to aid the new Commander as he or she sees fit.”

 

“But, she will no longer be _Heda_ ,” Indra said, wonder in her voice. Clarke nodded firmly, knowing she had made a decision on Lexa’s behalf, a huge, life-altering decision. But life was about more than just surviving and Clarke would not let Lexa go without a fight.

 

Titus glanced once more at the bed, his eyes softening, and then nodded.

 

“Very well, _Wanheda_. It shall be as you command.”

 

“One more thing, Titus.”

 

The Keeper of the Flame nodded solemnly, though Clarke could see he was biting down hard on his jaw.

 

“You will stop the blockade and the kill order. I need to get into Arkadia and I can’t do that with a Grounder army in my path.”

 

“I can get Clarke in,” Octavia offered, exchanging a silent nod with Indra.

 

“And once you’re in, you think Pike is just gonna let you play doctor with the former Commander of the Grounders?”

 

Murphy had a point, but Clarke did not hesitate in her next words.

 

“Leave Pike to me. Get us into Arkadia and I swear on the Commander’s Spirit that I will make this right.”

 

“And how can you swear this? Do you not fear your Chancellor will murder you, as he did our army?” Titus asked, the distrust evident on his grim features. Clarke leaned over once, placing a soft kiss where the mark of the _Heda_ used to rest on Lexa’s brow.

 

“Because I am _Wanheda_ ,” she said, straightening her back as she spoke, “Slayer of the Mountain. And it’s Chancellor Pike who should fear me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, weary travellers. This is not a fic about Clarke taking back Arkadia. It is not a fic about politics. It is very much a fic about Lexa and Clarke living their lives together. 
> 
> If you like it and you wanna put a ring on it, let me know by commenting here.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr: wrackwonder


	2. Chapter 2

No one noticed the lone carriage pulling away from the gates of Polis.

 

The paths towards the city were packed with people arriving for the Conclave. Representatives from all the clans made there way over the well worn roads towards the Capital, which meant that few people paid much attention to the small, indiscrete market cart winding its way further and further into the woods. Murphy and Indra sat at the front guiding the horses, their bodies covered in ragged, dirty cloaks, and Octavia had made her way ahead, needing the time to gather her allies in Arkadia.

 

Which left Clarke alone with an unconscious Lexa in the back of the wagon. Leather hides shielded them from the elements, but there was enough light pouring in from the entrance for Clarke to keep her eye on Lexa’s face and Lexa’s wounds. Each jostle of the carriage, each pebble beneath its wheel, made Clarke hold her breath. She was certain that one wrong move and whatever miracle had stopped Lexa’s bleeding would cease, that black blood would start oozing once more, and she’d be left clutching the cold body of the woman she loved.

 

She lay uneasily beside the former Commander, trying to use her own body as a brace. Clarke told herself it was all for Lexa’s wellbeing, that sliding her arm around the prone body next to her would keep Lexa’s ragged wounds from opening. That resting her forehead against Lexa’s temple would allow her to easily listen for any sign of choking. The fact that she was pressed so close to Lexa, that Lexa’s feverish skin made Clarke’s heart stop thundering so loudly, that Lexa’s light breathing made the hysteria in Clarke’s lungs subside, was not important.

 

“I’m going to fix this,” Clarke promised against Lexa’s skin. “I swear, I’m going to fix this.”

 

~*~

 

The moon was full as the small party reached Arkadia, its pale light casting shadows in the trees, making each darkened pathway an abyss. Clarke did not move from her spot beside Lexa, not when she heard Indra and Murphy whispering softly to the horses, and certainly not when the harsh spotlight of a watchtower suddenly illuminated the sky from a distance. It was not until she heard the familiar hooves of Octavia’s horse that Clarke stirred and in what was becoming a habit, she left one light kiss on Lexa’s brow before crawling from the wagon and into the dark.

 

Octavia was not alone and Clarke was only slightly surprised to see Kane with her, holding what appeared to be a stretcher.

 

“We have to move fast,” he whispered by way of greeting. Murphy was again by Clarke’s side, helping Kane with the stretcher and then reaching for the prone body of the former Commander.

 

“Careful!” Clarke hissed, watching with dread as Kane and Murphy awkwardly pulled Lexa’s body from the wagon. Indra was a silent presence in the dark, reaching with her one good hand for Lexa’s shoulder as the two men lowered her to the ground. Once Lexa was situated on the stretcher, Clarke checked her wounds, her pulse, and when she was assured that Lexa had made the journey from the cart to the ground, she gave a curt nod.

 

“I’m not going back in there,” Murphy said, folding his arms and leaning against the wagon with all the stubbornness he was known for.

 

“I cannot go either,” Indra was frowning, her eyes never leaving Lexa’s face. There was a brief pause as Clarke and Kane exchanged a glance. Who was in charge here? What were they doing? But Clarke was exhausted and heartsick and terrified, so when Kane began giving orders, she exhaled sharply, feeling suddenly so young and so confused.

 

“Octavia and I will get Lexa to Abby,” Kane began, pointing from himself to Octavia and back again.

 

“Indra,” he pointed, “wait here. Once we have news on Lexa’s condition and Pike, ride to Polis.”

 

“And Clarke…”

 

“I’m coming with you,” she said, already knowing that her place was in Arkadia, with her people. Her people who were on the brink of starting a war. Her people who took and took from her. Her people…

 

There were silent nods and friendly handshakes. Clarke held Murphy’s forearm in her palm for an extra moment, thanking him. And then there was Indra, who with no words managed to convey a threat that Clarke wholeheartedly believed: _If Lexa dies, you will be next_. And then Kane was pulling back a panel and awkwardly climbing into an air duct that had once kept the people of the Ark alive. Now it was Lexa’s only chance.

 

~*~

 

Their pace was excruciatingly slow. Each push of the stretcher, each pause in their progress, was a universe of agony for Clarke. The space was too tight to reach Lexa and for all she knew, the woman sprawled out in front of her could be dead. Only the light of Kane’s torch and Octavia’s reassuring presence gave her the strength she needed to keep going. She needed to get to her mom. If she could get to Abby everything would be okay.

 

The sounds of Arkadia echoed loudly beneath them; boots on steel flooring, voices in loud conversation, tools clanging against battered technology. Clarke could barely breathe from the exertion of pushing Lexa’s stretcher, she was sweaty and too warm, and all she could smell was the blood dried on her hands, her cheeks, _everywhere_. But finally, Kane stopped, reaching up with one hand to still their movements. He then pulled a panel from the wall and their tunnel was filled with harsh, artificial light. It blinded Clarke, enough so that she was barely aware of Kane pulling Lexa’s stretcher forward, or the familiar hands that were suddenly reaching towards her.

 

“Clarke!”

 

Abby pulled Clarke towards her in a crushing hug and it was all Clarke could do not to stumble forward and collapse into her mother’s arms. She allowed herself the luxury of Abby’s embrace, the familiar feel of her mother’s denim lab coat a welcome presence beneath her cheek. And then she pulled back, taking in her surroundings. She had never seen this particular room – it certainly was not part of Abby’s medical facilities. Kane and Octavia were lowering Lexa onto a hospital gurney and there was a strange assortment of old medical equipment, but otherwise, it seemed bare, and dark, and not nearly enough to do what needed to be done.

 

“Mom, where are we?”

 

“Pike has control of the bottom levels,” Kane explained, “Abby has been treating Grounders here for the last week.”

 

“Where’s Raven?” It had surprised Clarke not to see the mechanic somehow involved in this rescue mission. If anyone could sneak in and out of the Ark, it had always been Raven Reyes, but judging by the looks Kane was exchanging with both Octavia and Abby, something was wrong.

 

“Listen, Clarke, Raven is on the Jaha Juice, Bellamy is so far up Pike’s ass that he may never see the light of day again, Lincoln has been quarantined,” Octavia’s voice was low, but terse, and Clarke knew it was time to take charge. She had let Kane shoulder the responsibility long enough. Lexa was dying and Arkadia was in shambles. Time to be _Wanheda_ , no matter how badly Clarke Griffin wanted to sleep and cry and hold Lexa’s hand.

 

“O, get Miller, Monty, anyone you think will be on our side.” Giving orders felt natural, even as she took her place by Lexa’s shoulder, subconsciously running her fingers along the intricate tattoo gracing the former Commander’s bicep. Before Octavia could disappear into the bowels of the Ark once more, however, Clarke stopped her.

 

“Bring Bellamy,” she said, and the younger Blake scowled at the mention of her brother, but then nodded, slipping away through an abandoned air vent. Clarke took a deep breath, trying to calm herself when she suddenly sensed Abby across from her, holding a pair of surgical scissors. The doctor was leaning over her patient, reaching for the tattered remains of Lexa’s shirt when Clarke reached out, closing her fingers around her mother’s wrist.

 

“Don’t…”

 

“Clarke…”

 

“Just…” Clarke turned to Kane who seemed to understand her hesitation and excused himself. The idea of exposing Lexa, of leaving her naked and alone on this sterile table was too much. She wanted to crawl next to the unconscious woman, cover her in blankets, cradle her, protect her from all the hurt and pain that was sure to be the future.

 

“Sweetheart, I’m a doctor, I’ve seen it all before,” Abby tried and Clarke nodded, furrowing her brow as she gazed at Lexa’s face.

 

“I know. I…I removed the bullet, I probably shouldn’t have done that, but she was bleeding and I had to stop it. I shouldn’t have done that…”

 

“Clarke…”

 

“And the black blood. You can’t tell anyone, I’ll explain later, but it makes it hard to see…”

 

“Clarke…”

 

“Titus pulled something out of her neck, some kind of A.I. chip, it saved her, but I don’t know what it is, or if it hurt her, or…”

 

“An A.I. chip?” Abby’s voice finally broke through Clarke’s ramblings and Clarke glanced up, finding her mother’s face fraught with confusion.

 

“Jaha has been passing around these _chips_ ,” Abby explained slowly, “They take away pain, but they seem to cause memory loss, nerve damage, I don’t quite know how they work.”

 

“The City of Light,” Clarke whispered.

 

“The City of Light,” Abby nodded. Clarke reached for the scissors then, sliding them carefully through the thin material of Lexa’s shirt. The former Commander’s stomach was stained black, her bandages dirty and soiled, but above she was just as beautiful as Clarke remembered. Abby made no mention of the mouth-shaped bruise above Lexa’s right breast, nor did she speak as Clarke lowered herself to Lexa’s face and pressed a soft kiss to the still, full lips.

 

“ _Ste yuj, Leksa_ ,” Clarke said, running her fingers through Lexa’s matted hair.

 

“Fix her, mom,” Clarke instructed, her voice full of steel and warning. “Fix her while I go fix _us_.”

 

~*~

 

In yet another hidden room, Clarke found herself surrounded by her people. True to her word Octavia had delivered their allies. Miller guarded the door while Monty stood close to Clarke’s shoulder, seemingly relieved to be in her presence once more. Kane placed himself beside her, as numerous people filled the space. But all Clarke could do was look down at her hands and wonder if she’d ever rid herself of the black blood beneath her fingernails. It was only when Octavia reappeared that Clarke released her own fingers.

 

Bellamy’s hands were tied in front of him and a black bag had been tossed over his head. He walked in a stumble, straining against his bindings. When Octavia kicked his leg, he crumpled forward and they all heard the indignant bark beneath the bag. It was Kane who removed the necessary disguise and Bellamy shook his head once, blinking in the light of the room.

 

“Clarke, you can’t just…”

 

“Stop talking,” Clarke said, folding her arms across her chest.

 

“The Commander is dead,” she began, feeling no need to reveal Lexa’s presence in Arkadia. “A Conclave is taking place as we speak to choose the next Commander and before that happens, we need to set things right.”

 

“You haven’t been here, Clarke,” Bellamy tried to argue, “The Grounders…”

 

“You mean the innocent people you slaughtered.”

 

Bellamy lowered his head once and it gave Clarke hope. Her old friend was struggling with his conscience. If she could just convince him. If she could just make him see…

 

“They keep killing _our_ people,” Bellamy shouted, shrugging his strong shoulders in another attempt to free himself.

 

“Because we keep killing them! And it needs to stop, Bellamy. I can stop it. But I need you.”

 

Clarke took his silence as her chance. It was now or never.

 

“Lexa wanted peace,” she said, her voice wavering around the shape of Lexa’s name in her mouth, “but there can be no peace with Pike as our Chancellor. We need him out. Now. We need to stop killing Grounders. We need to stop baiting them into a war none of us can win!”

 

“They’ll kill us anyway,” Bellamy tried to argue, tears welling in his eyes and Clarke could recognize the despair in him. Too much death. Too much blood. Too much loss. Leaning down, Clarke held Bellamy’s cheek in her palm, forcing him to look into her eyes.

 

“They won’t. Not this time. Not if we take our place as the Thirteenth Clan. No more guns. No more bloodshed. Just peace, Bellamy. _Peace._ ”

 

She did not mention that they held the key to this plan beneath their roof. She did not mention that this key was hovering between life and death on her mother’s surgical table. She did not mention that Lexa’s eyes were her strength and Lexa’s voice was her power. She did not mention any of it. Because she needed Bellamy’s trust back. She needed so many things in that moment.

 

“How?” His voice was so low that she barely heard it, but it was enough. She placed a kiss against his forehead before standing once more to address the crowd. Kane quickly cut through the ties on Bellamy’s wrist and helped him stand.

 

“We need to overthrow Pike. Legally. A call of non-confidence in the Chancellor can only pass with a majority vote. Bellamy, Kane – can you get us the numbers?”

 

Both men nodded slowly and for the first time since her return, Clarke saw the hint of a smile on Kane’s features.

 

“Octavia, Miller – you need to gather anyone who’s taken one of Jaha’s pills. Get the Grounders and Lincoln out of quarantine, toss Jaha’s people in there instead. And Monty?”

 

Monty stepped forward, eager to play his part.

 

“How do you feel about dismantling an A.I chip?”

 

“Sounds easy,” he said with that funny mix of confidence and hesitation that was always in his voice.

 

“My mother confiscated Jaha’s stash. Work with her. Figure out if we can remove them once ingested. Fix Raven first,” Clarke instructed, squeezing Monty’s arm for reassurance. The small group of allies looked at each other, knowing they were about to save their people, or doom them.

 

~*~

 

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.”

 

Lexa lay still on the table, her skin stained with the evidence of her injury. The white bandages stood in stark contrast to the dried black blood covering her abdomen. Clarke reached for the warm, damp cloth Abby offered and gently started to clean away the gore. She began at Lexa’s hip, remembering the feel of it beneath her fingers, the feminine curve of the Commander in her hands.

 

“There is one thing, Clarke,” Abby said, and Clarke braced herself. There was always one thing. _Always_.

 

“The A.I chip has been fused to her spine for years. There’s very likely going to be nerve damage. It may be temporary, but…you need to be prepared.”

 

Clarke nodded, feeling incapable of speech. She knew saving Lexa had been a risk. She knew she had made a decision on Lexa’s behalf and for the first time she truly pondered the cost of her decision. What if Lexa didn’t want _this_? Taking her daughter’s silence as a dismissal, Abby stepped out, no doubt leaving to find Kane, which left Clarke alone with Lexa for the first time in days.

 

“Hey,” she said softly, dragging the cloth across Lexa’s stomach. “Guess what I’m doing?”

 

The silence in response brought Clarke to tears and she sniffled loudly, willing Lexa to wake up, to say something in that steady, low voice of hers.

 

“I’m trying to save my people. _Our_ people. All of them,” her voice was weary and she felt the weight of so many lives on her shoulders.

 

“But I can’t do this without you, Lexa. _They_ need you. _I_ need you.”

 

The tears caught her off guard. It was suddenly all she could do not to collapse to the floor. Instead she leaned over Lexa’s body and pressed her face into an unmoving shoulder. She tried to nuzzle her cheek against the warm skin, tried to imagine the Commander’s arms circling her, holding her, assuring her that all would be well. But Lexa remained still and Clarke knew she could not stay. Not when Kane and Bellamy were inciting a rebellion and Octavia was likely facing down Raven.

 

She was about to leave, about to tear herself away, when she heard it. A sharp intake of breath, an almost violent heave of a chest cavity. And as she pulled back to look down, she found herself gazing into pain filled green eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

 

“Lexa?”

 

The woman in question opened her mouth to speak and then tilted her head back in what seemed like a silent scream. Clarke grabbed for her, trying to still her, but Lexa raised her arms, obviously wanting to latch onto Clarke. The long, graceful hands were limp, however, they hung from her wrists uselessly, and Clarke swallowed hard, burying her own fear, as Lexa looked at her in horror.

 

“Hey, hey! I’m here. I’m here. Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay, Lexa!”

 

The former Commander shook her head and tried once more to reach for Clarke. But her hands would not obey and Clarke grabbed the other woman’s wrists, lowering the thrashing arms to the table, lest Lexa tear her sutures.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke said, trying to maintain eye contact. “You’re in Arkadia, you’re alive, you’re going to be okay.”

 

Tears poured from Lexa’s eyes as she shook her head fiercely.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke pressed their foreheads together, feeling Lexa’s crossed arms flutter slightly against her chest as she leaned down across the body beneath her. With their lips nearly touching, Clarke whispered the words she so hoped Lexa would understand. The words she prayed would ease Lexa’s fear and bring her much needed strength. The only words she could think to say in that moment.

 

“ _Yu gonplei nou ste odon_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Second! As noted, this fic really isn't going to be about politics. I want to create a strong enough bridge between now and...well, I can't give it away quite yet. Next chapter will be a lot more Clexa heavy and then things will get positively domestic. You have my word.
> 
> Please comment here. I read and adore your words (they also make me want to write more! Everyone wins!).
> 
> Please reblog on tumblr too. And feel free to drop in and ask my anything: wrackwonder


	3. Chapter 3

It was a bullet, not a rebellion that ended Pike’s reign.

 

The details were still fuzzy and Clarke had not been present when it happened, but according to Bellamy, one of Pike’s own took the shot. What followed was chaos and then, miraculously, the peace they had all dreamed of. A new election was called and this time, the candidates campaigned, made promises, and when Kane was elected chancellor, the people of Arkadia sighed with relief. He ran on a platform of honestly and prosperity and from the second he pinned the Chancellor’s emblem to his lapel, he dedicated himself to ending the war with the Grounders and elevating the position of Arkadia as the thirteenth tribe.

 

It was Abby and Monty who were tasked with neutralizing Jaha, which left Clarke free to care for Lexa. It was a strange feeling, the freedom that came when other people shouldered responsibility. When other people made the daily decisions that could be the difference between life and death. Clarke was uneasy, especially once Lexa was moved from Abby’s medical bay to Clarke’s own bedroom. Delegating? Negotiating? Fighting for survival? Clarke knew how to do that. It was all she had known since landing on the ground. But _this_? Lexa? This was entirely different.

 

The former Commander had yet to regain full use of her hands or feet. She spent her days in Clarke’s bed or seated in a chair, silent and resigned. It scared Clarke to see Lexa so withdrawn, it scared her to the point that she found any excuse to be away from her quarters. She suddenly found interest in Raven’s projects or Octavia’s horse. She spent most of her time with Bellamy trying to help him piece together his shattered relationships and his shattered decisions. But today was different. Today was the day she had been both hoping for and dreading. Because today was the day Indra finally rode through the gates of Arkadia bearing news from Polis.

 

The people of Arkadia were mostly asleep by the time Clarke made her way through the mostly abandoned hallways of the Ark. She was grateful for the quiet because she was unsure of what would happen once Lexa read the parchment Clarke held in her hand. She had tried to see Lexa everyday, but the former Commander was so despondent that it often seemed to do more harm than good. Still, Clarke wanted desperately to be by Lexa’s side, to save her from this, to heal her. She knew it was selfish, she knew a lot of her decisions regarding Lexa had been selfish, but she would not allow anyone else to give Lexa this news. It had to be her.

 

Niko was standing at the door when Clarke rounded the corner and the two exchanged a glance. Lexa had refused help from any of Clarke’s people, but with her hands incapacitated she needed someone there for mealtime. She nearly bit Clarke’s head off when Clarke offered to help her bathe, but Niko seemed to have a calming affect on Lexa.

 

“ _Wanheda_ ,” the medicine man said, bowing his head slightly in respect.

 

“Niko,” she responded, mirroring his actions. He offered her a small smile and then a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

 

“She will be well, with time, _Heda_ shall stand once more.”

 

 _Heda_. Clarke swallowed hard and hoped she did not look as scared as she felt. Lexa was not _Heda_ , she would never be _Heda_ again. But the news that Lexa would heal calmed her slightly. Abby had said the same. Daily massages and exercises would improve Lexa’s mobility and repair the nerve damage left by the Commander’s Spirit. Clarke feared the damage went far deeper than Lexa’s spine, but she dared not speak of it. She dared not voice her worries, lest they be made real. So instead she brushed past Niko and entered her room, straightening her back and schooling her face into something she hoped was neutral.

 

“Lexa, there’s news from Polis.” There was no point in exchanging pleasantries or trying with small talk. For her part, Lexa was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a long, fur shawl Niko had brought from TonDC. She was dressed in Clarke’s clothing and it made her look even more out of place in the sterile surroundings of the Ark. Lexa belonged in Polis, in furs and pelts with belted swords around her thighs and hips. Here, she looked so small in Clarke’s henley, it gaped at the chest and someone had rolled up her sleeves, making her look childlike in an oversized shirt. The fur hid her hands, but Clarke knew from memory how they looked, curled and limp and so not the powerful, long fingers that could both silence a room and bring soft, careful pleasure. That could somehow hold a spear on one day and Clarke on another and handle them both with agonizing perfection.

 

“Lexa?’ Clarke shook her head to rid herself of the memory of Lexa’s hands.

 

“Leave it,” the voice was low and disinterested. It made Clarke want to scream.

 

“No. I won’t leave it. You need to read whatever this is, Lexa.”

 

“No. I do not. Leave it. Now.”

 

Lexa’s stubbornness only fuelled Clarke’s own and with hardly a thought, Clarke tore the seal on the parchment and scanned the page. The former Commander gasped softly, growling something that sounded like “how dare you!” before Clarke raised one hand swiftly to silence her. The news was good. It was beyond good. And Clarke felt herself smile for the first time in weeks.

 

“Aden has been chosen,” she said and the smallest glint of pride in Lexa’s eyes was enough to encourage her.

 

“He requests your presence in Polis as soon as you are able...”

 

“No.”

 

“You will be _Heda kom Trikru_ …”

 

“No.”

 

“And they have given you a new title.”

 

Clarke could feel Lexa’s anger from across the room. Green eyes flashed in what seemed to be haughty offense and she shifted on the bed. If she had been able, Lexa would have likely stormed from the room in the dramatic way she favoured and Clarke was temporarily relieved that the former Commander could not move.

 

“Will you listen to the rest of this or will you insist on behaving like a _goufa_?”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa said in that way she had. Her tongue curled around the name like it had always lived behind her teeth and it made Clarke ache for her _Heda_ , for Lexa, who was all wide eyes and secret smiles and power held on slim shoulders.

 

“At least listen, okay?”

 

There was a terse nod and then Lexa’s crossed her arms revealing the unnaturally limp hands. Clarke looked away, but not before catching the flash of humiliation in Lexa’s eyes.

 

“They are calling you, _Sonraun Heda_. Commander of Life. You will be Aden’s advisor, his chief counsellor. They want to honour you, Lexa.”

 

“Then they are fools.”

 

“How can you say that?” Clarke tosses the parchment to the ground and marched across the room. She wanted to grab Lexa by the shoulders and shake her, but instead she crossed her own arms, mirroring Lexa’s stance.

 

“I cannot serve the new _Heda_ ,”

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

“It is not my place, Clarke! Do not speak of what you cannot understand!”

 

It was good to hear some passion in Lexa’s voice. It was good to hear her yell, to feel _something_. And though she knew it was likely selfish, Clarke wanted more than anything to goad Lexa on, to force her to speak, to finally reveal all the anguish she’d kept inside.

 

“Then explain!”

 

Lexa shuffled to the front of the bed, obviously wanting to stand, but instead, she forcefully brought her hands down, smacking her numb hands against her thighs.

 

“It was my right to die, Clarke! It was my right to take my place amongst the former Commanders!”

 

“But you didn’t die, so…”

 

“You should have let me! You are selfish. Your feelings are weakness. You should have let me die!”

 

“The Spirit of the Commander brought you back to life,” Clarke argued, trying to ignore Lexa’s sharp words. She had wanted this, this anger. And she had earned it. Her decisions had been selfish. Her feelings had guided her hands. But she did not regret it. Not for one, single moment.

 

“It is a gift I do not want, _Wanheda_.” The catch in Lexa’s voice stilled Clarke’s anger. There were tears in Lexa’s eyes and she lowered her head in shame. Taking a risk, Clarke lowered herself before Lexa, resting on her knees before hesitantly reaching forward. Lexa’s hands lay still on her thighs, palm up, and Clarke closed her fingers over them, squeezing hard to make sure Lexa could feel her.

 

“I cannot serve _Heda_ ,” Lexa whispered. “I cannot serve my people.”

 

Clarke squeezed again, running her thumbs over Lexa’s wrists.

 

“You will heal, Lexa. My mother, Niko, they both say you will get your strength back.”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa said so quietly, her voice shook with tears. Clarke inched closer, bowing her head low.

 

“Tell me,” she said back.

 

“I cannot serve _Heda_ ,” Lexa began, “I cannot serve my people, and,” she paused, finally looking into Clarke’s eyes, “I cannot serve _you_.”

 

It felt like something had broken open, like a seal had shattered and Clarke was left feeling winded. They stared at each other and Lexa’s eyes were so clear, so open, that Clarke lost her words for a moment. And then she felt the lightest flutter of Lexa’s fingers against her palm and it was enough to turn the world technicolour once more.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Clarke’s question obviously surprised Lexa who frowned in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

“I want to kiss you. But it’s not my decision to make. So…can I kiss you?”

 

It only took the slightest nod of Lexa’s head for Clarke to lean forward and press her lips against the former Commander’s mouth. She made sure to take things slow, to be gentle, and she waited for Lexa to respond. When she did, when Clarke felt the soft movement of Lexa’s full lips against her own, she let go of one of Lexa’s hands and reached up to cup Lexa’s face, letting her artist’s fingers trace the proud cheekbone and one small, perfect ear.

 

“Can I kiss your neck now?”

 

The nod was slight once more and Clarke moved carefully, worried that any sudden actions would scare Lexa or send her spiralling back into a depressive silence. Tucking her face into Lexa’s neck she inhaled, taking in the foreign scent of her own clothing on Lexa’s skin, coupled with _Lexa_ , leather, fresh air, ashes, rain.

 

Slowly, indulgently, Clarke swept her lips across Lexa’s throat, sucking gently against her pulse point, and smiling against warm skin when she heard a sigh above her. She let her hands drop to Lexa’s hips and squeezed, brushing her mouth higher to kiss a soft, impossibly adorable earlobe. Lexa sighed again and Clarke pulled back, checking to see that the woman before her was alright.

 

“Can I take off your shirt?” Clarke was surprised at how breathless she was, at how hard her own heart was pounding, but then again, Lexa had a way of leaving her flustered and speechless with nothing more than a well-aimed look of those haunted eyes.

 

“Clarke, I meant what I said.” Lexa frowned sadly and raised her hands between their two bodies.

 

“My hands…”

 

“Are beautiful,” Clarke finished, grasping the offered fingers tightly with her own. She pulled Lexa’s hands to her mouth, kissing scarred knuckles with all the reverence they deserved.

 

“I cannot serve you.”

 

“You can. Lexa, if you want to, if you want me, you _can_.”

 

They sat in silence for what felt like an age. Lexa’s brow was furrowed, she was caught in some silent argument with herself and Clarke did not dare to intervene. Instead, she held Lexa’s hands and waited, hoping, wondering what this mystery of a woman sitting before her would say. And just when she thought Lexa was gone, the former Commander looked up and offered her one painfully slow nod. Clarke exhaled the breath she did not know that she was holding and nodded back, releasing Lexa’s hands and reaching down to the hem of Lexa’s shirt. She carefully raised it over the Commander’s head, careful of Lexa’s injuries and more than aware of the anxious hitch in Lexa’s breathing.

 

“Is this okay?” Clarke asked, helping Lexa to lie back on the bed. Lexa nodded, she seemed incapable of speech, so Clarke cautiously slid onto the bed beside her. She rested her hand lightly on Lexa’s hip and propped herself so she could run her finger’s through thick, dark hair. It seemed to calm Lexa, whose breathing evened out, and Clarke felt herself close to tears at the sight. She softly kissed the shoulder closest to her and then reached for the other, tracing her lips along the line of a graceful collarbone.

 

Lexa’s bones were beautiful. Clarke had always thought so, but up close, with her fingers curled around a hip and her mouth drifting slowly along a perfectly curved clavicle, her artist’s brain wanted it all. She wanted to paint this woman, to consume her, to capture her with paper and charcoal and fingers, to somehow keep her still and preserved and immortal. But while Lexa’s bones were beautiful, Lexa in motion was even more beautiful, and Clarke wanted that too; the grace, the lines, the energy and sweat and blood. She wanted everything and it prompted her to kiss lower, to move from Lexa’s shoulders down, between two small, proud breasts, down to where a white bandage stood out in stark contrast to Lexa’s skin.

 

She kissed around the white edges, she let her lips take in the slightly reddened flesh she found there, and it shook her because Lexa was so mortal, so suddenly fragile, and it made terror rise in her throat.

 

“You died,” she said, voice rough from unshed tears and when she looked up, Lexa’s face was strange, something between regret and apology, and it made Clarke need to kiss her again. She did, swiftly, and Lexa kissed her back, moaning softly into Clarke’s open mouth. It ignited something inside her, it made her want to take and take and take. And then, as she pushed herself up to look into Lexa’s eyes, it humbled her. Because this was _Lexa_. Not _Heda_. Not the Commander of the Thirteen Clans. Just _Lexa_. And the honour of this moment, of the body beneath her, of Lexa’s small nods and open, wet eyes, took Clarke’s breath away.

 

They were frenzied, suddenly, all the quiet softness gone as Clarke hungrily kissed down, pausing between Lexa’s breasts to listen to a steady heartbeat. Its rhythm filled her, made her every nerve burn with yearning, and she darted her tongue against the warm skin before moving to close her mouth over a hard, pink nipple. Lexa gasped and arched, pressing against Clarke and then she hissed in pain, leaving Clarke fumbling to comfort her.

 

“Hey, shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she said, gently rubbing Lexa’s belly with her palm. Clarke wedged herself impossibly closer to Lexa, swallowing hard when Lexa’s thigh found purchase between her own legs, but the weight of her body kept Lexa from moving too suddenly and hurting her wounds. When Clarke lowered her mouth to Lexa’s breast once more she was rewarded with a sigh and the fluttery feel of hands against her back. She could tell Lexa wanted to hold her, wanted to press her close, but the light touches of her fingers felt so nice, she never wanted Lexa to stop.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice surprised her, it broke her own concentration, but when she felt a light plucking against the back of her shirt, she understood.

 

“ _Beja_ , Clarke,” Lexa said and Clarke sat up, quickly tossing her shirt and bra on the ground.

 

“Is that what you wanted?”

 

Lexa eyed her hungrily and when Clarke lowered herself against Lexa’s side again, the former Commander growled. Lexa pushed herself up on one elbow and buried her face between Clarke’s full breasts, licking her hotly and it was all Clarke could do to keep herself up, to not collapse under the weight of Lexa’s wicked tongue as it circled her nipple. When Lexa _sucked_ , when her teeth nipped the delicate skin, Clarke pressed her hips down, crying out at the sudden friction of Lexa’s thigh against her. She wanted more, she would likely always want more, but it took all of her stubborn will to pull away and stand by the bed, tearing off her pants and underwear. Clarke paused briefly then, letting her hand hover above the button of Lexa’s jeans.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They were both naked in seconds, Clarke resuming their previous positions, but this time, the feel of Lexa’s skin against her made her alarmingly wet. She moaned again, her hand drifting just below Lexa’s naval, wanting more than anything to tug at the dark curls she found. Instead, she drew her fingers from hip to hip, dragging them along perfect warm skin, and Lexa squirmed beneath her. Clarke dipped her fingers lower, tracing the softness of a thigh, and then back to the hip, over and over and over, until Lexa was nearly panting in desperation.

 

Clarke slammed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. It was overwhelming, this feeling, this pregnant pause. Her own heartbeat sounded too loud in her ears, but she finally allowed herself to dip her hand between Lexa’s leg, to feel that sacred space, and again, she felt humbled, awe struck, that Lexa had consented to this. That Lexa was allowing _her_ this power. As she made slow, steady circles over Lexa’s clit, Clarke swallowed hard, furrowing her brow, trying to maintain some composure. But it was impossible with Lexa’s back arched, with her breasts proud and small, with her full lips open and glistening. Clarke slipped one finger inside, then another, and immediately thrust herself against Lexa’s thigh, the feel of the Commander’s warmth, the snug, wet heat of her enough to send Clarke spinning. This was holy, this moment, _holy holy holy_ , and she pressed herself over and over against Lexa’s thigh, staining against her with want and need and promise. _I am yours._

 

It was Lexa’s hands on her back that stilled her, fluttering soft hands that felt like fallen leaves in the forest drifting gently over her skin. Clarke moved carefully in and out of the woman beneath her, using her thumb to push down hard on Lexa’s clit. And with each thrust, Lexa arched. It was so beautiful to watch, so beautiful to see the flush of red rise from Lexa’s sternum and up, that Clarke had to follow it with her lips. She reached forward then, wedging her right arm behind Lexa’s neck and shoulders. With Lexa’s arms around her back, they were holding each other tightly, so tightly, there was no room between them save for Clarke’s hand. They were moving together, their lips pressed together, not in a kiss, but a touch, an exchange of gasps and moans and sighs. And with each thrust, with each slide against Lexa’s thigh, Clarke found her rhythm, a melody that seemed to chant _you’re here_ and _you’re alive_ and _you’re mine_.

 

Clarke could feel herself close, she could feel Lexa close, and she watched as the former Commander tipped her head back, fluttery fingers trying to find purchase against her shoulders. The sight of Lexa gasping, the feel of her tightening around Clarke’s fingers was enough, and with a final thrust, they both let go, straining against each other as the world turned a blazing white behind their eyelids. For a moment Clarke couldn’t breathe, all she knew was _Lexa_ , Lexa’s skin against her mouth, and Lexa tight and hot and so wet against her hand and Lexa smooth and strong between her legs and _Lexa_.

 

It was a moment later when Clarke realized she had collapsed on top of the woman beneath her. They were both panting, but Clarke pushed herself up so suddenly that Lexa barked in laughter.

 

“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Clarke looked down Lexa’s body, but found nothing amiss with the carefully placed bandage. Instead, Lexa pulled Clarke down once more, using her forearms to hold the _Wanheda_ as close to her as she could. Clarke gratefully settled in between Lexa’s legs, blushing as she moaned when a hard clit accidentally brushed against her own.

 

“My head no longer hurts,” Lexa whispered in awe and Clarke raised her face from where she had tucked it against Lexa’s neck.

 

“Your head hurt? Did you hit it?”

 

“No. It is so quiet, Clarke. I cannot hear the Commander’s Spirit. It…it frightened me.”

 

It was a confession and Clarke could only nod, trying to put the pieces together. She had never believed Lexa’s talk of reincarnation, never understood the _Heda_ ’s words about former Commanders speaking to her. But she realized belatedly that Lexa was right, that she really could hear voices, and it struck Clarke how scary it must have been to lose that, to lose the guidance that had been with Lexa for years. Clarke used to think of Lexa as a solitary, lonely soul, as someone who was forced into a life without companionship. But Lexa had never been alone, truly alone, until Titus removed the chip from the back of her neck. It broke Clarke’s heart, to think of Lexa scared, and she leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to Lexa’s brow.

 

“Sex made you feel better?”

 

“ _You_ made me feel better,” Lexa answered, rewarding Clarke’s cheeky grin with a wide smile of her own. Clarke kissed her then, gently, and then helped her turn on her side. They fit so well, the Commander of Life and the Commander of Death, two sides to a whole. She knew she should let Lexa sleep, but her lips found the ink on Lexa’s back and she could not stop tracing the spheres dotting that perfect skin. It was a comfort to her, to commit these marks to memory, to commit _Lexa_ to memory and it made Clarke’s chest ache to realize that they now had time. The she didn’t have to memorize Lexa’s body all in one night, that she didn’t have to depart the next day. They had _time_ and it made her eyes well with tears.

 

“I will go to Polis,” Lexa said and Clarke nodded behind her, kissing the scarred infinity symbol on the back of Lexa’s neck. It was split in two now, scar tissue on top of scar tissue, thick and red and angry, but Clarke thought it to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was not a broken eternity, but a chance at forever. The scar dividing the symbol was a promise of the future, of _their_ future, and Clarke kissed it reverently.

 

“They will give me more markings, Clarke, I hope you do not mind.” It was said in jest, but Clarke could still hear the hesitation in Lexa’s voice. She tossed her arm over Lexa’s middle and kissed her shoulder.

 

“You are beautiful.”

 

“I am no longer _Heda_ , the Commander’s Spirit has left this body.” The hesitation turned to fear now and Clarke wiggled herself even closer to Lexa, holding her as tightly as possible.

 

“I don’t want the Commander’s Spirit, Lexa, I just want _this_ body. I just want you.”

 

A hand reached back and settled on Clarke’s hip then, a hand that seemed stronger than it had in weeks. And as Lexa’s breath evened out, as the _Sonraun Heda_ closed her eyes, Clarke watched, memorizing the lines of Lexa’s face, the way her hair fell against her brow, the way her eyelashes formed tiny shadows against her cheek. She pressed her face between Lexa’s shoulder blades and allowed herself to close her eyes. Lexa was safe and alive and warm and in her arms.

 

There was no more life and death. Just Lexa and Clarke. Curled together and finally whole.

 

~*~

 

It was two weeks later that Lexa emerged from their shared quarters in full war paint. Raven had fashioned her a set of crutches, and she swiftly made her way through the halls of the ark to the bright, sunlit grounds before the gates of Arkadia. Her horse was waiting, as was Niko, and with help from the medicine man, Lexa was soon mounted.

 

She looked resplendent, her eyes somehow made brighter by the black paint. Her swords were strapped to her back and a knife was buckled to her thigh. The familiar red sash had been replaced with green cloth, the same colour as the moss that painted the forest floor of _Trikru_ ’s territory. Clarke knew she would draw this scene, the way the sun hit Lexa’s braided hair, the bold set of _Heda kom Trikru’s_ shoulders. But that would come later, for now, she had to say her goodbyes.

 

“I will return in two week’s time,” Lexa said, looking down at Clarke.

 

“You’d better,” Clarke gently brushed the horse’s neck and then squeezed Lexa’s calf, knowing full well that the nerve damage still needed time to heal. But Lexa’s hands were stronger, and her feet would get there soon. And dressed in her full regalia, Clarke was struck by how powerful Lexa looked, how strong.

 

“I believe it was you who insisted I go,” Lexa raised her eyebrow and smirked, but then leaned down, pulling Clarke to her. They kissed softly, aware that they were outside, surrounded by people, but still, this moment belonged to them, they had earned it.

 

“You have to go, Lexa, that’s why I…” Clarke paused, eyes widening slightly, before she glanced up at Lexa and gave her a knowing look. “That’s why you’re _you_.”

 

Whatever passed between them then was electric. The words were clear, so wondrously clear, that Lexa’s smile rivalled the light of the sun.

 

“Death could not keep me from your side, Clarke, neither shall Polis.”

 

With one more kiss, Lexa pulled back and lightly kicked her heels. Clarke watched as she galloped away, followed by her small entourage, and her chest felt so full, so overwhelmingly big that she had to remind herself to breathe. Lexa would return. And the leaves would change colours. The world would turn to snow and ice and then the sun would melt it away. And maybe, if they were lucky, they could watch it happen. Side by side. Together in this life and the next. Forged in blood and tears and something more. Something on the tip of Clarke’s tongue and in the glint of Lexa’s eye. Something a mere bullet could never destroy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may have noticed, I have decided to end this fic. Sort of. Real life has me very busy with writing projects and I don't feel that I can give this fic all the time it needs. I have the story plotted and I will likely return someday, but for now, this felt like a good place to leave things (for now).
> 
> As always, I love reading your comments, so if you dig what you read (or not), let me know! Please consider reblogging this on tumblr too. I love your tags! Thanks for all of your support. May we meet again!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @wrackwonder


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